


Roméo, oh Roméo

by being_alive



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo e Giulietta - Ama e Cambia il Mondo, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: F/M, M/M, a weird mix of various versions of the musical, blink and you'll miss it Romeo/Benvolio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/being_alive/pseuds/being_alive
Summary: A brief look at four of the most significant kisses Roméo has received in his lifetime.





	Roméo, oh Roméo

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no idea where the inspiration for this came from.

Roméo is seven years old and Lady Montague is carrying him up to bed, ignoring the quizzical looks of the servants and the protests of his old nurse. She has been doing this ever since his father died, shooing away his nurse one evening four years ago and putting him to bed herself every night since. They make it up to his room in more time than it's taken them before but Roméo doesn't mind because this is his favorite part of the day. Lady Montague sets him down on his bed and steps back. Roméo gets under the covers and looks up at her. Lady Montague kneels down on the floor and tucks him in before stating, "Pretty soon you'll be too big for me to carry, Roméo."

"No, I won't," he retorts.

Lady Montague shakes her head, laughing, and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead before saying, "Go to sleep, Roméo. I love you."

\---

Juliette's lips are soft and kissing her feels like coming home. He's kissed many girls before, far too many for him to count, but none of them can compare to Juliette. 

(He's also kissed Benvolio before, but they were drunk and both have agreed to never speak of it again, and besides that kiss doesn't even truly count, not really.) 

It doesn't matter to him that he's one wrong foot placement away from falling off of her balcony and seriously injuring himself. His only complaint is of the short wall separating them. Juliette pulls away first, looking over her shoulder.

"My father-," she begins but then he's kissing her again.

"That doesn't matter," he says, brushing the back of one of his hands against the soft skin of her flushed cheek.

"Tybalt-," she begins before Roméo presses one of his fingers against her mouth.

"That doesn't matter," he repeats, removing his finger and kissing her again.

"I love you," Juliette says, and he smiles.

\---

He sees something change in Mercutio's eyes, and then Mercutio is grabbing his shirt and using the last of his strength to pull Roméo down. Mercutio whispers something that sounds too much like an 'I love you' against his lips and then Mercutio's lips meet his, urgent and desperate, attempting to say everything he didn't get to say in his life through this clash of teeth and tongues. Mercutio pulls away, staring up at Roméo before his hands falls away from Roméo's shirt and Roméo is left holding a dead man.

"Mercutio," he sobs, brushing a strand of hair out of Mercutio's face, "Why did you never tell me?"

\---

There is a shimmer of something becoming visible, just out of Roméo's direct line of sight but he doesn't look up from Juliette. She almost looks asleep, hands clasped on her stomach, hair fanned out on the cold stone under her. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes as he leans down and presses a kiss to her lips, as gently as his mother once kissed his forehead when he was just a child. He's not a child anymore, though; he's a man, a man three days away from his twenty-first birthday, a man who has known both love and marriage, a man with a dead wife. He has known and loved Juliette for such a short amount of time and yet he can not imagine life without her. His hand goes to his waist, feeling for his knife before he remembers that he left it in Paris's body. He looks up then, seeing that he's not alone. There is a tall figure standing near Paris's body, neither man nor woman, clad in trailing grey wisps of fabric, with long hair the same shade as their clothing, pale eyes fixed on Roméo.

"Death," he whispers and the figure nods, suddenly appearing next to the stone slab Juliette is resting on and Roméo is kneeling on. He knows there is only one reason Death would appear here and he opens his arms gladly. Death embraces him, pressing their lips to his, one of their hands coming around to cradle Roméo's head, fingers tangling in the dark strands of his hair. Death pulls away, and Roméo collapses onto his back next to Juliette. He rests his head against her shoulder, wondering when it became so cold.

"I love you," he whispers, eyes closing right as Juliette's eyes begin to open.


End file.
